"Why, as to that—since there be no witness here but your horse—I can speak. Ess, I've got it safe enough. 'Tis my family to me, my fire, my food, my heaven. I catch heat from it in the cold; it feeds me when I be hungry; it fires my blood same as liquor would. I hug it like a lover an' it makes me young again. But you—you that have lifted walls between my cattle an' their best grazing ground—you that have cursed me and promised to hang me—you that be what is worst in every generation of your race rolled into one—you may ax an' pray to all the devils of hell for your amphora; an' they'll sooner give it back to you than ever I shall!"
Malherb preserved a very remarkable restraint under these insults.
"As usual, my judgment is confirmed," he said. "You hold my treasure and deny me possession. So be it. But you must die some day, Lovey Lee. Now let us discuss the future."
"Never—never," she screamed. "Die—who be you talking to? I ban't built to die. I'm all steel springs and tough as osiers. Not a sense failing, an' power to do a man's work when I will. I'll last out you an' your brood, never fear; I'll live to see your blasted walls in the dust yet an' your body resting on the Coffin Stone up Dartmeet Hill. Don't fox yourself to think I'm going to die afore you. An' when that time does come an' I know that I've got to go, I'll scat your toy to little bits—pound it to dust an' eat it—eat twenty thousand pounds! I've thought of that—I, that live on snails an' efts, will make me such a meal as no human has ever made. You! I'd rather fling the glass under the hammers at the tin mine afore you should touch it or see it more."
"A ducking-stool would do you good, you foul-mouthed old witch," he said. "Be very sure your secret's out now and the end of you is not far off."
"You're a fool to think so. You'll tell the world I've got your amphora? And I'll say I have not. You'll say that I confessed to it, and I'll ax when? You'll say upon the middle of Dartymoor at a moonshiney midnight! An' the neighbours will reckon another fool be taking to drink to drown his troubles. Get home to your wife! Be you faithless to her, too, along of your other faults? Go; throw over more crosses till the curse of God's ripe for you! An' do me a hurt at your eternal peril. Your son be took, but lift one finger against me, an' by the God as made us both evil, I'll ruin your daughter's life. 'Tis in my power to do it, so I can hit you harder than you can hit me."
She stood still a moment, then turned her back upon him, and hastened down a stony place into the darkness. He watched her climb out upon the other side and fade into night. For a moment his rage prompted him to gallop after her, but he changed his mind and turned homeward.
A grand problem filled the foreground of his life from that moment. Daily his circumstances grew more straitened, and that morning he had felt shamed in secret to spend fifty guineas on a new hunter. Yet now twenty thousand pounds seemed almost within reach again. He doubted not that his amphora was hidden upon Dartmoor, and felt positive that the historical jewel of the Malherbs must soon return to his possession. Already he planned the spending of the money.
In olden times this man would have thought it no sin to torture the truth out of Lovey Lee by rack or red-hot iron. Now he concerned himself with other ways of solving the problem. Stealthily he returned home, stalled his horse and rubbed it down, then crept back to bed. His mind was occupied with fair means to recover his amphora. As for the miser's threats, they were forgotten. He had as yet met no woman capable of opposing herself successfully to his determination.